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HUMPDAYS 4

BOOK I: PORTAL OF GOD

“First Wednesday of the Month.”

Continued from

“So, what are ya, exactly?” the Crimson Conservative asked. “Some villain obsessed with testing deodorant? Is your plot to spa supers to death? Think I can’t fight with my sweaty top clingin’ to me?”

The young man levitating next to the restrained superheroine took her in, intrigued by both her physical strength and--to put it kindly--unusual mentality. His cosmic-level abilities allowed him to create cords of energy that were unbreakable, even against the efforts of the ultra-strong woman, stretching her nine-foot form as tightly as possible, making her immobile but for her hands, feet, and the body part she was moving the most…

Her mouth.

“Do you realize how easily I could destroy you in any one of a countless number of ways?” David Blake, the young man known as Concussion, asked, though he knew that the stinking portion of himself that was still good would not allow that to happen.

“Nope,” Connie replied, straining her iron-hard muscles against her bonds as sweat trickled down her body, some of it dropping to the molten rock beneath her giant red boots and sizzling briefly when it hit. “You realize how easily I could crush a scrawny twerp like you into something that’d fit into a bottle of Jack Daniel‘s?”

Concussion sighed. “Even if I didn’t have the powers of a god, you can’t compress a body that much, Connie. Still, points for imagery.”

“Speaking of Jack,” the redhead said, “that was only my first bottle of the day that you took me away from.” The woman tried to shake her head, but it was pinned nearly immobile between her massive arms. “Nobody gets between me ‘n my first bottle of Jack, boy.”

“It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning yet,” the young man said. “I did you a favor.”

“You call using some kinda hoodoo to tele-whatsit me outta a bar and plopping me in the middle of wherever you’ve got me a ‘favor‘? Kid, I ought to belt your parents a good one for not learnin’ you any manners.”

Concussion smiled at the mention of his parents. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you meet my dad, actually,” he said. “But are you really one to talk about manners? You were loud and obnoxious from the moment you entered that bar, and had used two racial slurs and a phrase insulting to homosexuals before you even reached the bartender.” He fought back a grimace, thinking of how he had been simply David Blake while in the bar before Connie had made her entrance, but the towering behemoth and her crudeness had brought the Concussion part of him to the surface.

“Oooh, I get it now,” the right-wing powerhouse said. “You were at the bar thinkin’ it was a gathering place for your kind, realized there wasn‘t anyone in the joint drinking an appletini with a pink umbrella in it, and decided to take your aggression out on me ‘cause I said something that got your Obama print panties in a bunch… typical.”

“You’re astounding,” David told her.

“I know.”

“That wasn‘t a complement.”

“I know.”

David was beginning to regret using his powers to cool the volcano to the point that it would not fry the obnoxious woman to ashes. Connie was immensely durable, he knew, though not to the point that she could survive suspension mere inches from the surface of molten rock.

But she could survive an awful lot of what he was planning on doing to her. Concussion opened his mouth to try to threaten the Crimson Conservative again when something unexpected happened, the event actually seeming to surprise the god-like being more than the captive woman.

“Hello, Azathette,” Connie sighed after the intense yellow flash of light, glad it had come from her left side so she did not find herself blinking away the afterimage.

“You can’t see me from the angle your head is wedged between those columns of muscle you call arms,“ the newcomer stated. “What gave me away? My patented brand of making an atomically-powered entrance, or the Chanel No. 666 perfume Daddy gave me?”

David stared down at the newly-arrived creature that appeared to be a cute little punk teenager, though not one part of his being thought that she was what she appeared… not anything close. He was not afraid, but just the same immediately recognized her as an entity of immense power.

She was petite, clad in tiny black boots, ripped fishnet stockings, and a leather miniskirt. PRIMAL CHAOS! was printed on her black shirt in red letters, and her hair was purple on one side, black on the other.

“What’s up, Dave?” the woman-shaped thing asked, looking at him with the two flaming pits she used for eyes. “Thought whisking Connie here to a surprise South American vacation was a good way to impress her?”

“So that’s where I am,” Connie said, her single deep blue eye monitoring the little creature as she walked on air, circling both her and Concussion.

“I thought slowly boiling her in a volcano would get her attention, yeah,” he replied to Azathette. “I know your name--or at least what you call yourself--thanks to Connie, and you seem to know mine, but I can’t remember seeing you around. Ever been to Angel Falls?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, elbowing Connie in the side. “You’re not the only godling who’s teleported around with this wonderful piece of murder. I’m the one to thank for the Crimson Conservative dropping by the city for the very first time!”

“I ought to send you to hell for that,” David said with a smile, making Azathette laugh. “Speaking of hell, mind if I feed Connie a big slice of it?”

“By burning her? Actually, yes, I would. I share my toys,” she said, fingers caressing the bound supersoldier’s sweaty six pack. “But don’t like to see them broken. At least not physically. Besides,” she went on, now trailing a single fingertip around Connie’s belly. “Frying her is not the best way to torture this belligerent beefcake…”

Connie could not hide the fact that she was sucking in her stomach and breathing hard, but she was (barely) able to keep from audibly whimpering.

“I know,” Concussion said with a roll of the eyes. “She’s ticklish.”

“Ha!” Azathette laughed. “That’s like saying R’lyeh is humid or that Shub-Niggurath doesn’t use birth control!“ To punctuate her point, she dug into the supersoldier’s sides, making her absolutely shriek. “Oh, nice one! I love the rising note of despair at the end, you big songbird!”

“This is retarded,” David said once the little super-being had finished tickling the Amazon. “We’re doing things my way.”

“No, you’re not,” Azathette said, holding out her hand. In another flash of yellow light a small machine appeared in her palm, which clicked and beeped for a moment, then levitated into the air, brandishing a white feather in one of its appendages. “You won’t be around to do things your way, Dave, because you are about to leave.”

“Am I?” he asked, not amused.

Azathette nodded. “So am I, actually; gonna get a good seat for the show. Don’t bother asking what show, ‘cause you’ll be in it soon enough.”

“Yeah?” Concussion asked, annoyed at not feeling in control of the situation.

“Yeah,” Azathette told him. “I won’t be a player in it, but hot damn, is this gonna be entertaining! Keep my favorite death-machine company,” she said to the floating robot, then looked from Connie to David. Then, with a smirk, the being said “Show time,” and vanished as suddenly as she had come.

“Huh,” Concussion said, shrugging his shoulders. “That was interesting. Now, where was-”

The Crimson Conservative’s senses did not pick-up whatever it was that David seemed to hear then, perhaps because her heart was pounding in her ears from the brief tickle assault, but she doubted that was the reason. Whatever it was, the punk born David Blake and had become the monster Concussion took note of it, looked into the distance, and faded from sight as he used his powers to send himself elsewhere. The redheaded captive though she heard him whisper “Dad?” but, thanks to her heartbeat and her biceps being pressed into her ears, could not be sure.

“Hey!” Connie screamed. “The robot! Take the damn thing with you!” She was nearly hyperventilating as her huge eye watched the machine approach her helpless body. “Take it with yooou!”

But he did not come back, and with a series of beeps and a high humming sound, the little device went to work, cutting short the bound supersoldier’s pleas and curses with diligent, knowledgeable strokes of its feather.

--Continued here: --

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Look who’s actually posting something! Me! Look who made it happen! ! Look who’s getting the @$#% tortured out of her again! Connie!

It is an honor to see my girl involved in the Humpdays saga that is being orchestrated by Andrew, who was generous enough to commission this piece of A+ artwork from . Thanks for thinking of the Crimson Conservative, , and for your patience and encouragement.

is where my mouthy supersoldier’s latest misadventure started, though it appears to have ended above a volcano somewhere in South America.

David Blake/Concussion and the Humpdays series of stories belong to Andrew, while the Crimson Conservative and Azathette are my creations and property. (Gold star to anyone who can tell me the name of my story that includes the one and only other appearance of the diminutive demoness.)

Comments welcome, even if it’s just to predict where the little ‘bot is going to strike first. Don’t bother to speculate if it has a clothes-removing laser attachment, though: it does.

Description
HUMPDAYS 4

BOOK I: PORTAL OF GOD

“First Wednesday of the Month.”

Continued from

“So, what are ya, exactly?” the Crimson Conservative asked. “Some villain obsessed with testing deodorant? Is your plot to spa supers to death? Think I can’t fight with my sweaty top clingin’ to me?”

The young man levitating next to the restrained superheroine took her in, intrigued by both her physical strength and--to put it kindly--unusual mentality. His cosmic-level abilities allowed him to create cords of energy that were unbreakable, even against the efforts of the ultra-strong woman, stretching her nine-foot form as tightly as possible, making her immobile but for her hands, feet, and the body part she was moving the most…

Her mouth.

“Do you realize how easily I could destroy you in any one of a countless number of ways?” David Blake, the young man known as Concussion, asked, though he knew that the stinking portion of himself that was still good would not allow that to happen.

“Nope,” Connie replied, straining her iron-hard muscles against her bonds as sweat trickled down her body, some of it dropping to the molten rock beneath her giant red boots and sizzling briefly when it hit. “You realize how easily I could crush a scrawny twerp like you into something that’d fit into a bottle of Jack Daniel‘s?”

Concussion sighed. “Even if I didn’t have the powers of a god, you can’t compress a body that much, Connie. Still, points for imagery.”

“Speaking of Jack,” the redhead said, “that was only my first bottle of the day that you took me away from.” The woman tried to shake her head, but it was pinned nearly immobile between her massive arms. “Nobody gets between me ‘n my first bottle of Jack, boy.”

“It wasn’t even ten o’clock in the morning yet,” the young man said. “I did you a favor.”

“You call using some kinda hoodoo to tele-whatsit me outta a bar and plopping me in the middle of wherever you’ve got me a ‘favor‘? Kid, I ought to belt your parents a good one for not learnin’ you any manners.”

Concussion smiled at the mention of his parents. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you meet my dad, actually,” he said. “But are you really one to talk about manners? You were loud and obnoxious from the moment you entered that bar, and had used two racial slurs and a phrase insulting to homosexuals before you even reached the bartender.” He fought back a grimace, thinking of how he had been simply David Blake while in the bar before Connie had made her entrance, but the towering behemoth and her crudeness had brought the Concussion part of him to the surface.

“Oooh, I get it now,” the right-wing powerhouse said. “You were at the bar thinkin’ it was a gathering place for your kind, realized there wasn‘t anyone in the joint drinking an appletini with a pink umbrella in it, and decided to take your aggression out on me ‘cause I said something that got your Obama print panties in a bunch… typical.”

“You’re astounding,” David told her.

“I know.”

“That wasn‘t a complement.”

“I know.”

David was beginning to regret using his powers to cool the volcano to the point that it would not fry the obnoxious woman to ashes. Connie was immensely durable, he knew, though not to the point that she could survive suspension mere inches from the surface of molten rock.

But she could survive an awful lot of what he was planning on doing to her. Concussion opened his mouth to try to threaten the Crimson Conservative again when something unexpected happened, the event actually seeming to surprise the god-like being more than the captive woman.

“Hello, Azathette,” Connie sighed after the intense yellow flash of light, glad it had come from her left side so she did not find herself blinking away the afterimage.

“You can’t see me from the angle your head is wedged between those columns of muscle you call arms,“ the newcomer stated. “What gave me away? My patented brand of making an atomically-powered entrance, or the Chanel No. 666 perfume Daddy gave me?”

David stared down at the newly-arrived creature that appeared to be a cute little punk teenager, though not one part of his being thought that she was what she appeared… not anything close. He was not afraid, but just the same immediately recognized her as an entity of immense power.

She was petite, clad in tiny black boots, ripped fishnet stockings, and a leather miniskirt. PRIMAL CHAOS! was printed on her black shirt in red letters, and her hair was purple on one side, black on the other.

“What’s up, Dave?” the woman-shaped thing asked, looking at him with the two flaming pits she used for eyes. “Thought whisking Connie here to a surprise South American vacation was a good way to impress her?”

“So that’s where I am,” Connie said, her single deep blue eye monitoring the little creature as she walked on air, circling both her and Concussion.

“I thought slowly boiling her in a volcano would get her attention, yeah,” he replied to Azathette. “I know your name--or at least what you call yourself--thanks to Connie, and you seem to know mine, but I can’t remember seeing you around. Ever been to Angel Falls?”

“Oh, yeah,” she said, elbowing Connie in the side. “You’re not the only godling who’s teleported around with this wonderful piece of murder. I’m the one to thank for the Crimson Conservative dropping by the city for the very first time!”

“I ought to send you to hell for that,” David said with a smile, making Azathette laugh. “Speaking of hell, mind if I feed Connie a big slice of it?”

“By burning her? Actually, yes, I would. I share my toys,” she said, fingers caressing the bound supersoldier’s sweaty six pack. “But don’t like to see them broken. At least not physically. Besides,” she went on, now trailing a single fingertip around Connie’s belly. “Frying her is not the best way to torture this belligerent beefcake…”

Connie could not hide the fact that she was sucking in her stomach and breathing hard, but she was (barely) able to keep from audibly whimpering.

“I know,” Concussion said with a roll of the eyes. “She’s ticklish.”

“Ha!” Azathette laughed. “That’s like saying R’lyeh is humid or that Shub-Niggurath doesn’t use birth control!“ To punctuate her point, she dug into the supersoldier’s sides, making her absolutely shriek. “Oh, nice one! I love the rising note of despair at the end, you big songbird!”

“This is retarded,” David said once the little super-being had finished tickling the Amazon. “We’re doing things my way.”

“No, you’re not,” Azathette said, holding out her hand. In another flash of yellow light a small machine appeared in her palm, which clicked and beeped for a moment, then levitated into the air, brandishing a white feather in one of its appendages. “You won’t be around to do things your way, Dave, because you are about to leave.”

“Am I?” he asked, not amused.

Azathette nodded. “So am I, actually; gonna get a good seat for the show. Don’t bother asking what show, ‘cause you’ll be in it soon enough.”

“Yeah?” Concussion asked, annoyed at not feeling in control of the situation.

“Yeah,” Azathette told him. “I won’t be a player in it, but hot damn, is this gonna be entertaining! Keep my favorite death-machine company,” she said to the floating robot, then looked from Connie to David. Then, with a smirk, the being said “Show time,” and vanished as suddenly as she had come.

“Huh,” Concussion said, shrugging his shoulders. “That was interesting. Now, where was-”

The Crimson Conservative’s senses did not pick-up whatever it was that David seemed to hear then, perhaps because her heart was pounding in her ears from the brief tickle assault, but she doubted that was the reason. Whatever it was, the punk born David Blake and had become the monster Concussion took note of it, looked into the distance, and faded from sight as he used his powers to send himself elsewhere. The redheaded captive though she heard him whisper “Dad?” but, thanks to her heartbeat and her biceps being pressed into her ears, could not be sure.

“Hey!” Connie screamed. “The robot! Take the damn thing with you!” She was nearly hyperventilating as her huge eye watched the machine approach her helpless body. “Take it with yooou!”

But he did not come back, and with a series of beeps and a high humming sound, the little device went to work, cutting short the bound supersoldier’s pleas and curses with diligent, knowledgeable strokes of its feather.

--Continued here: --

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Look who’s actually posting something! Me! Look who made it happen! ! Look who’s getting the @$#% tortured out of her again! Connie!

It is an honor to see my girl involved in the Humpdays saga that is being orchestrated by Andrew, who was generous enough to commission this piece of A+ artwork from . Thanks for thinking of the Crimson Conservative, , and for your patience and encouragement.

is where my mouthy supersoldier’s latest misadventure started, though it appears to have ended above a volcano somewhere in South America.

David Blake/Concussion and the Humpdays series of stories belong to Andrew, while the Crimson Conservative and Azathette are my creations and property. (Gold star to anyone who can tell me the name of my story that includes the one and only other appearance of the diminutive demoness.)

Comments welcome, even if it’s just to predict where the little ‘bot is going to strike first. Don’t bother to speculate if it has a clothes-removing laser attachment, though: it does.